


Heat Wave

by maven



Series: The Thing-verse [9]
Category: E.R.
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-11
Updated: 2013-10-11
Packaged: 2017-12-29 00:26:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/998683
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maven/pseuds/maven
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An interlude on the journey of life. In other words, fluff.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Heat Wave

**Author's Note:**

> This series is mainly canon up to the end of Season 7 where it becomes alternative universe. Everything on the show beyond that point is in the vague realm of "didn't happen"... sort of like the sequels to the Matrix and Star Wars 1-3.

KIM

“Oh. Ohhh. Oh God, Christie!”

I blink. I close my eyes.

“Kerry, dear?”

“Hm-mmm.”

“What the hell was that?”

“You were the one that said that fantasy was a healthy part of any physical relationship and that we shouldn’t be afraid of it or think that it implied unfaithfulness or lack of desire in each other. Indeed, it can keep a couple’s sex life exciting and fresh.”

“I said that?”

“Pretty much exactly. I have a good memory for psycho-babble bullsh….”

“Okay, I think you proved your point. Gave me a heart attack at the same time, but point taken. In fact,” I drawl and hold the thought until she begins to look decidedly nervous.

“Um, you’re not thinking of revenge or anything. Are you?”

“I’ll let you know after we see whose name you call out next.”

+++++

KERRY

I look across the crowded emergency department, catch her eyes and smile. My right hand forms a pair of legs, thumb against the leading index finger before bringing my hand up as if about to take a drag of a nonexistent cigarette. She raises her right hand, flat except for the thumb held across the palm and lazily waves it back and forth about shoulder level as if fanning herself.

I frown and repeat my sign, a bit more emphatically. ‘Pink,’ I repeat.

‘Blue.’

I throw in a couple of phrases not usually found in the ASL dictionary. ‘Pink.’

She twirls her index finger in a tight circle by her temple. ‘Blue.’

I compare her to a Christmas cake. ‘Pink.’

She calls me a Twinky. ‘Blue.’

I suggest something not anatomically possible. ‘Pink.”

She suggests something anatomically possible but only with a great deal of effort that leaves sore muscles for days. ‘Blue,’ I sign, blushing furiously.

The surgery consult arrives from the elevators, moving toward the admit area. Luka hands a chart to Robert, both bending over it and momentarily blocking our prey. ‘Pink. Blind. Bat ,’ I repeat.

‘Blue. Idiot.’

I sense a presence beside me and glance at Peter Benton. He looks at me, looks at Kim and finally at the object of our discussion. He makes the R hand sign and then pantomimes it launching into space before making the sign for ‘understand.’

‘Thanks’, we both sign simultaneously. He waves it off as he heads toward the admit area, giving it a calculating look. He then turns around, right hand flat, thumb against palm and waves it by his face.

‘Blue’.

+++++

KIM

“Oh. Ohhh. Oh God, Robert!”

There’s a stunned silence. Payback is so sweet.

“Ick! Argh! Gross! I can’t believe I kissed that mouth! My god, where’s my toothbrush!”

She’s gone.

“Kerry,” I call out. I’m lying on my back, staring up at Kerry’s beautiful ceiling and trying in vain to find the repair job I did to disguise the anchor holes.

“Wuuu?” she asks around her toothbrush from the bathroom doorway.

“Fantasy is a healthy part of any physical relationship and we shouldn’t be afraid of it or think that it implies unfaithfulness or lack of desire in each other. Indeed, it can keep a couple’s sex life exciting and fresh.”

“Bite me,” she replies, clearly and carefully through the froth before heading back in to spit.

“Aren’t you afraid of Lesbian Bed Death?”

“They have a term for my beating you to death with a bottle of mouth wash, oh lesbian in my bed?”

I chuckle to myself as Kerry returns to brushing.

“Kerry,” I call out again.

“Wuuu?”

“Let’s make a baby.”

“Jus a minuh,” she mumbles before disappearing. There’s the sound of running water and spitting and I can hear her coming back into the bedroom. “Say that again.”

“Let’s make a baby.”

“Kim,” she says, crawling back into bed with me. “I’ve told you before that parthenogenesis doesn’t work with humans.”

I swear Kerry is the only person I know who can use parthenogenesis in a sentence comfortably.

“No, that’s not what I meant,” I say. “Candles, a little wine, a turkey baster, a fertility technician or two. You know. The old fashioned way.”

The silence stretches and that could be a good thing or a bad thing. “I um, raided the hospitals brochure rack and hit some resource centres in the area.” She’s still silent and I’m beginning to lean toward ‘bad thing’. “Kerry? Say something.”

“I guess I can put my brochures back. Save a few pennies for the hospital to help defray the cost of our replacement while we’re on maternity leave.”

  
Oh. Excellent thing.

The End


End file.
